


smile maker

by thunderylee



Category: KAT-TUN (Band), NewS (Band)
Genre: Bloodplay, Canon Universe, Gunplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2019-01-20 07:04:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12427467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Nakamaru will do anything for Massu.Anything.





	smile maker

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written with ayamehadouken for je_devilorangel 2012. prompt lyric: _Just to wipe away your sadness, I would even become evil_. – TORN

“I’m in love with you,” Massu says, and Nakamaru drops the bags of take-out.

So many things race through his mind – reality, insecurity,  _sexuality_  – but Massu’s staring at him expectantly and the only thing he can see clearly is Massu’s worried frown.

“I love you too,” he replies, feeling it as he says it, and Massu’s expression brightens.

This won’t be easy, Nakamaru tells himself, but he’s determined to make it work. It’ll be worth it, just to see Massu smile.

*

Since the confession, Nakamaru and Massu have continued to hang out together, just like they’d been doing BC ( _before confession_ , Maru liked to call it in his head), keeping the status quo. Though it seemed like Massu was less peppy lately, more storm clouds than sunshine. He couldn’t figure out why.

Finally while watching a movie, almost-but-not-quite touching, Massu spoke up. “Remember when I confessed my feelings, and you yours?”

Nakamaru nods, turning the volume down and turning to face his best friend (boyfriend? Maru isn’t really sure what they are.). “Well, yes. Why are we discussing this now?”

A deep sigh. This doesn’t bode well.

“I thought you said you loved me. Why won’t you touch me?”

He doesn’t really have a good answer. Instead, he tentatively laces their fingers together and pulls Massu toward his lap. Massu readily straddles him, and Nakamaru frames his face with his hands. He takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve, and pulls Massu down for a kiss. He’s pushed back by the force, Massu’s intensity showing Nakamaru just how badly he’s wanted this; a kiss so fierce that he starts to lose his mind.

Suddenly it feels like Massu has eight hands, touching him everywhere at once and Nakamaru makes it until both of their shirts are draped over some part of the couch and Massu’s fingers are creeping towards his waistline before halting him.

“What?” Massu asks, a bit breathless and a  _lot_  impatient. “Don’t you want to be with me?”

The way it’s worded has Nakamaru feeling bad, as does the sad pout on Massu’s face. “I’m just… I don’t want to move so fast.”

Massu gives him a sympathetic look before climbing off of his lap, flinching a little as Nakamaru breathes a sigh of relief. “I can wait until you’re ready, sorry.”

“Thanks,” Nakamaru mutters, reaching for his hand, offering a smile as he squeezes Massu’s fingers to show he’s not mad.

Massu doesn’t smile back.

*

Nakamaru has had some time to think about all the implications of the new aspects of their relationship, and he  _did_  tell himself that he’d do whatever it took to make Massu smile. He can’t bear to see such a wilted, somehow less vibrant version of his closest friend, so he indulges in extracurricular research so he can get more comfortable with the idea of doing  _that_  with Massu. He has a vague idea of how it would work, but he’d rather go in knowing how best to get back the smile that he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much.

*

He couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about everything, even though he and Massu had known each other for years and regularly spent time together. Nakamaru had no idea if he should treat this like he had treated his relationships with girls, but right now he should focus on making sure he had everything ready. Massu was going to be showing up with take-out any minute now.

Nakamaru checks his room one last time, making certain his stash of condoms has been supplemented with lubrication and that he doesn’t have any stray clothes on his bedroom floor. His bed is neatly made, hopefully not  _too_  neatly, and it passes muster. Good timing, too, since his doorbell is chiming.

He tells himself it’s not going to be any different than their usual dates, and he isn’t sure when he started referring to their time together as such. Nakamaru opens the door, greeting Massu with a chaste kiss on the cheek as he takes some of the bags and steps aside for him.

Dinner passes in a blur. They discuss their respective bandmates and there’s a lot of eye-rolling, particularly on Nakamaru’s end, but the atmosphere is much lighter and Nakamaru sees his opportunity when Massu’s bent over the table gathering up their trash. The paper boxes and plastic utensils scatter when Nakamaru approaches him from behind, but the shocked noise Massu emits is appreciative as Nakamaru grabs him by the hips and guides him to stand up.

“Oh,” Massu says, tilting his head to the side as Nakamaru’s lips graze his skin. “Yuichi.”

“Shh,” Nakamaru whispers, feeling Massu shudder in his arms from the command. “I’ve spent a lot of time talking myself into this. If you stop me, I might not be able to start back up again.”

In the mirror across Nakamaru’s apartment, he sees Massu’s lips curl upwards, and that’s all he needs to spin Massu around and capture his mouth. Massu’s hands cling to his shoulders, desperately pulling him closer, and in the back of his mind Nakamaru registers things being knocked over on their blind stumble through the living room, down the hallway and through Nakamaru’s bedroom door, where he’s the one to actively throw Massu down onto his bed and crawl on top of him.

“Yuichi,” Massu says again, getting his words out between fire-hot kisses. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Massu doesn’t have to tell him. Nakamaru can feel it, growing against his hip, and he focuses on kissing the younger man and rocking their bodies together to hold back his apprehensions. Truth is, he’s scared out of his mind, but he can’t deny that Massu’s reaction to his dominance is the most arousing thing he’s ever experienced. He grinds their still-clothed erections together, then pulls back, yanking his shirt over his head and dropping it to the side. Then he pulls at Massu’s waist, scrambling to free him of his shirt, taking care to leave it mostly on the nightstand. Nakamaru has better things to worry about, things like unbuckling Massu’s belt and pulling his pants open and off of his legs.

Nakamaru looks down at Massu, both of their chests heaving, and they haven’t even gotten properly started. He takes a moment to drink in the sight of his best friend panting, flushed, and painfully aroused beneath him, if the bulge in his boxers is anything to go by. Nakamaru hooks fingers into the waistband, pulling them down slowly so he can take in all of the flickering emotions on Massu’s face.

Finally Massu is completely naked. Nakamaru knows most of his body already, even if it had been platonically, and lightly trails his fingers up Massu’s fully erect cock, swiping the bead of precome from the tip and flicking his tongue out for a taste. It’s bitter, yet sweet to watch as Massu moans, voice even deeper than usual, and reach up to tug his pants open. Nakamaru allows it, then stands to shuck his pants off.

Nakamaru opens the nightstand drawer, watching the way Massu follows his every movement with eyes shining with need. He could get used to this. He grabs a condom and his recently-purchased lube, then returns to the bed, pulling Massu’s legs apart so he can settle between them.

From his research and subsequent practice by himself, Nakamaru feels comfortable with what he’s about to do with his best friend, or as comfortable as the first time having sex with someone can get. He forces himself to stop thinking and coats his fingers, capping the tube and leaving it within reach. Nakamaru slides a finger against Massu’s rim, then locks eyes as he presses it inside, thrilling at the way Massu clenches around him and gasps.

The needy sounds falling from Massu’s lips feed Nakamaru’s feeling of dominance, and he readily adds a second finger, speeding up, scissoring them apart. As much as he’s savoring the experience, Nakamaru is beginning to get impatient as well, and he adds a final finger. Massu seems like he’s been ready for quite some time, so it’s only fair for Nakamaru to oblige. He pulls his fingers and a broken moan from Massu, then hastily sheaths himself with the condom he’d set aside. Nakamaru takes a deep breath, slicks his cock thoroughly, and grabs Massu’s knees.

Massu gazes up at Nakamaru, trust and lust and a myriad of emotions flickering over his features. He helps Nakamaru by holding his legs up, the rumbling syllables of his name galvanizing him into action. “Yuichi…”

“I love you,” Nakamaru says, meaning it with every fibre of his being as he slowly rocks his hips and pushes inside. He watches Massu’s face twitch at the intrusion, but his expression doesn’t waver, and while it should feel strange to look down at someone smiling while you move in and out of them, the way Massu bites his bottom lip makes it look sexy.

Sex is different now, and not just because Massu is a man. He feels it in his bones, his nerves, his heart; everywhere he acknowledges sensations and everywhere he doesn’t, it’s all focused on Massu and their love. How they come together as one, over and over again, Nakamaru looping his arms around Massu’s shoulders and kissing that flushed skin anywhere he can reach. The little noises Massu makes resound in Nakamaru’s head, guiding him to move faster or slower or harder, and those blunt nails grip the toned muscles of his back, pulling him as close as humanly possible.

All of that, all of him, all his love has him thrusting without inhibition, showing his feelings with his body and he makes it until he can’t breathe anymore, all of his energy focused on holding back and he wedges his hand between their sweat-slicked chests to stroke Massu in time with his actions. Massu’s moans rise in volume but lower in depth, his body clamping down around Nakamaru’s cock and he only makes it until Massu comes over his fingers to follow suit, gasping out Massu’s full first name and he can swear Massu holds him tighter as they both shudder and fall still.

*

The morning after is nowhere near as awkward as Nakamaru had thought it would be. He wakes up next to Massu, content to watch as he smiles in his sleep. No, Nakamaru is glad that his determination has paid off.

*

Massu’s sunshine smiles are present much more often than they had been, and Nakamaru takes pride in the fact that they exist in part because of  _him_.

However, Nakamaru doesn’t seem to notice that it takes progressively rougher treatment to produce the same results as their first time. Massu reacts so _favorably_  every time Nakamaru takes the lead, grabs him hard, throws him down (or against something), moaning and kissing him so heatedly that Nakamaru doesn’t realize exactly how forceful he’s being until he sees the bruises on Massu’s hips.

“Did I do this?” Nakamaru asks slowly, half amazed and half guilty as he traces the dark spots.

Massu shudders, but the smile he flashes over his bare shoulder is enticing. “It’s okay, Yuichi. I like to feel you when you’re not around.”

Blinking, Nakamaru thinks about what that  _means_ , draping himself over Massu’s back because his body is wholly approving of marking Massu as his own. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” Massu admits, and Nakamaru tears his hand away like it’d been burned. “But when you’re doing it – doing  _me_  – I like when you lose control and just… _own_  me.”

“Oh?” Nakamaru asks, a little embarrassed at how turned on he’s getting from this conversation. “So you just want me to, like, bend you over and take you?”

“Be rough, I can take it,” Massu says, his voice dropping into a dangerous range. “Don’t be afraid to bite or scratch me. Just, you know, nowhere where anyone will see.”

“Nowhere anyone will see,” Nakamaru mutters to himself, pulling down the covers enough to expose Massu’s upper thigh and dropping his mouth to it. “Like here?”

He gently sinks his teeth into the muscle and feels Massu tremble beneath him. The tiny shudders are encouraging, and they prompt Nakamaru to bite again, this time harder. Massu moans deeply, fingers tangling in the sheets as he writhes. “ _Yes_ , keep going.”

Nakamaru can’t refuse such a request. Massu’s enthusiasm is infectious, and his ever-increasing noises only validate Nakamaru’s increasing roughness. He moves to Massu’s other thigh, licking a hot stripe along the area he’s selected before sinking his teeth in deep, moaning in surprise at the iron tang of blood. He pulls back, shocked, and looks up for any signs of true discomfort from Massu. There don’t seem to be any, if the way his eyes have shut in bliss are any indication. He notices that Nakamaru has stopped, and blinks open his eyes, smile beatific. “Just like that, Yuichi.”

That eases Nakamaru’s conscience, and he leans back in to lap at the blood he’s spilled, then sucks at it until it’s flowing a little more freely. He pauses to admire his handiwork. Massu is clutching the sheets, eyes closed and chest heaving as a trickle of red seeps from one of the myriad marks Nakamaru has left. His cock is flushed almost purple, tip leaking, and Nakamaru decides to drag his tongue along the underside. On a whim, he slurps it down, pausing to tongue the bundle of nerves under the head, then very carefully withdraws, dragging his teeth the length of it while holding Massu’s hips still.

“Fuck,” Massu gasps, his hips snapping up until Nakamaru pins him down with both hands. True to his words, it makes Massu harder, his fingers twisting the sheets as his breath hitches and he stares up at Nakamaru with pleading eyes. “ _Please_.”

Nakamaru reaches for the lube as he takes Massu back into his mouth, eyes never leaving the other’s as he swirls his tongue around the shaft and follows with his teeth. Massu squirms beneath him but doesn’t give any indication that it hurts, at least enough to take away from his pleasure, and Nakamaru prods him open with his slick fingers as he sucks Massu’s cock in and out.

Massu’s hands find his hair, yanking pointedly and Nakamaru is confused as Massu’s cock falls from his mouth until it’s replaced with a hot, eager tongue. Nakamaru fingers him harder and Massu shakes from the force of his arousal, wrapping his legs around Nakamaru’s waist and pushing back against the intrusive touch to make it hit him even deeper.

“Yuichi,” Massu moans, arching from Nakamaru’s actions.

“Just a second,” Nakamaru whispers against Massu’s lips as he slips in a third finger. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But I want you to hurt me,” Massu replies, and Nakamaru sees red. “And turn me over.”

That does it, and Nakamaru can barely pull his fingers out to roll on a condom. He pulls back, yanking Massu up and throwing him onto his front. His hands wrap themselves around bruised hips and Nakamaru presses into Massu in one inexorable thrust. It’s still so tight, and Nakamaru has to pause momentarily to regain his composure.

Massu squirms beneath him, and Nakamaru takes that as his cue to start a punishing pace, ramming in and out as hard as he possibly can.

“Touch yourself.”

Nakamaru thrusts even harder as he looks down at the way Massu struggles to get a hand on himself, but he doesn’t slow down at all. It’s far more interesting to wrench broken noises from Massu, and to squeeze even more bruises into his marked hips as sweat beads along the length of his back and plasters his hair to the sides of his neck.

Nakamaru is getting close, and he can feel the way Massu is trembling around him, even closer to his own end. He drags short nails the length of Massu’s back and holds on through Massu’s screams as he fucks him through his orgasm. The pressure is too much, and Nakamaru’s grip adds yet more bruises to Massu’s collection as he stills, eyes screwed shut as he empties himself into his dearest person.

He barely pulls out before they fall into an exhausted silence, and Massu weakly turns to face Nakamaru, ever-present smile further emblazoning itself on the backs of his eyelids.

*

Kame worries about him. Koki thinks he’s heading down a bad path, which is rich coming from that guy. Koki’s done much kinkier things than a little rough-housing in bed; Nakamaru wishes he didn’t know that for a fact.

This just means he stops telling them, but they still know, or think they know. Ueda doesn’t say anything, but watches him precariously when they’re all together, judging him. Taguchi’s the only one who takes his side, saying that it doesn’t matter what a man does behind closed doors with another person as long as it doesn’t bleed over into his professional life. Nakamaru thinks Taguchi has an interesting choice of words.

Nakamaru tries hard to be normal in the daylight, whatever “normal” means. He assumes it means not getting violent with his band mates, which he never does despite the daily urges, though those were there before he even met Massu. He thinks about calling Jin, seeing what his old friend thinks, but the one time Nakamaru mentioned Jin around Massu the other man had frowned disapprovingly, and that was that.

As for Massu, Nakamaru’s feelings for him soar with each passing day. Massu stays over so much that Nakamaru cleans out half of his dresser for Massu’s clothes, and Massu’s mother gives up asking him if he’s going to be home for dinner by the second month. Nakamaru can hardly believe it’s been that long since Massu had confessed to him, but at the same time it still feels brand new, seeing Massu’s smiling face every morning when he wakes up and every night before he falls asleep.

Life is beautiful, at least until he comes home to red eyes and such a forlorn expression that it turns the sunny day outside into a raging storm.

“Who did this to you?” Nakamaru asks, racing to Massu’s side and wrapping his arms around him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Massu hisses through clenched teeth. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if you’re upset,” Nakamaru says. “Tell me.”

Massu doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Nakamaru doesn’t push him. “Yamashita,” he finally gets out. “I ran into him today, and it hurt to see him so happy. It’s stupid, but it still hurts. He should be happy with us. Leaders don’t walk out on their groups.”

“You’re better off without him,” Nakamaru says comfortingly, and Massu nods.

“Yeah, but I don’t like how he can just walk around like he has no problems.” Massu sniffles and Nakamaru’s heart breaks. “He left and never looked back, just like his father.”

“Forget him,” Nakamaru says, and while Massu nods again and promises to try, Nakamaru doesn’t.

*

Nakamaru lets his anger at Yamashita simmer quietly in the back of his mind. He’s not sure what he’ll do, or even if he’ll see the other man anytime in the foreseeable future. He just knows he’ll do  _something_.

The chance for  _something_  comes one evening as he’s leaving work. His car is still loaded with the weekend’s survival game gear, and Yamashita happens to be parked near him. The other man is fussing with one of his ridiculous scarves, and Nakamaru has plenty of time to pull out one of his handguns. It’s not real; it’s not even loaded, but it looks authentic in the waning daylight.

“Yo, Pi!” Nakamaru calls out, casually, because once upon a time they were all friends.

Yamashita looks up, grins albeit a bit sleepily. “Hey, Nakamaru! How’s life treating you?”

“Very well,” Nakamaru answers honestly, and the smile he flashes is genuine as he shoves the toy down his pants. “Do you have some free time right now? Want to grab a bite?”

“Actually…” Yamashita flips open his phone, moves his lips as he presumably figures out his schedule, and finally nods. “Sure! It’ll be nice to catch up.”

“You mind driving?” Nakamaru asks, trying to look sheepish.

Yamashita gestures towards the passenger side of his car. “Not at all. Hop in!”

They drive to the outskirts of town, Yamashita following Nakamaru’s every direction. It’s cute how oblivious he is, how  _trusting_. He really makes this too easy.

Nakamaru fondles the handle sticking out of his pants as Yamapi pulls into an abandoned parking lot and looks around with confused eyes. “Looks like it closed!” he declares, sounding disappointed.

“I think there’s a sign on the door,” Nakamaru says pointedly, smirking when Yamapi throws the car into park and jumps out to read it.

He stops in his tracks when Nakamaru points the barrel of the toy gun into his back. “Nakamaru-kun?”

“You have some nerve, walking around like you didn’t hurt anyone,” Nakamaru growls, dragging the gun up Yamashita’s spine. “Did you even apologize?”

Yamashita’s visible shudder is satisfying, and Nakamaru is mesmerized at the way Yamashita squirms as Nakamaru outlines the muscles of the other man’s shoulders. “For what?” he answers. “What did I do?”

“For betraying your group,” Nakamaru goes on. “On the business front, everything is fine, but what about their feelings? What about the trust they instilled in you as their leader?  _Did you even apologize_?”

“Yes,” Yamashita hisses. “I apologized. I apologized to Koyama and Shige and Tegoshi and… well, Masuda wouldn’t meet me.”

Nakamaru scoffs. “I wonder why. Even Jin apologized to us, did you know? He got on his knees and everything. I think you should get on your knees now.”

His arm seems to move of its own accord, the fire raging through his veins as he helps Yamashita comply with a smack to the back of the head. Slowly Yamashita drops to the ground, and Nakamaru moves around to the front, pointing the pistol right between Yamashita’s eyes that still look lifeless even now.

Yamashita blinks up at him, brow creased in confusion, and maybe a little pain. Nakamaru had hit him pretty hard. He presses the barrel against the bridge of Yamashita’s noise, unable to stifle his harsh bark of laughter at the way his eyes cross in an attempt to focus on the gun. “Well?”

Slowly, like some kind of frightened animal, Yamashita looks up at Nakamaru, then slowly lowers himself forward. Nakamaru is pleased that he presses his forehead to the filthy concrete without any prompting, and he speaks slowly, as if he’s speaking to a particularly dull child. “Now, do you have anything to say, Pi? Consider this practice for the next time you run into Masuda. Go ahead, what will we say?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for abandoning you, and the group. Will you ever forgive me?” Yamashita speaks clearly, even if he’s muffled by the position. He remains prostrate, at least until Nakamaru kicks him in the ribs in a clear motion to get up.

“That’ll do. Take me back to work now, and I’d like to hear that you’ve apologized to Masuda within the next two weeks.” Nakamaru tucks the gun in the back of his waistband and walks back to the car. Yamashita follows meekly, not saying a word the entire way back.

*

By the time Nakamaru gets home, he’s had enough time for the simmering rage to have subsided and purged itself from his mind. It’s with a spring in his step that he unlocks the door of his ( _and now it’s Massu’s too_ , he reminds himself happily) apartment. Massu seems to be in the kitchen, if the scent of homemade gyoza is any indication, and Nakamaru toes off his shoes, tossing his greeting over his shoulder as he goes to put away his gun.

He’s changing shirts when he hears a soft gasp, glancing over his shoulder to see Massu staring at his lower back. Of course, he hasn’t had time to put away his equipment. He turns around fully, surprised at the familiar glint of lust in Massu’s eyes.  _Oh_.

“Um,” he says eloquently, reaching for the handle. “It’s not -”

“Where did you go today, that you needed to be armed?” Massu asks, his voice a low breath.

“It’s not like that,” Nakamaru rushes to explain. “It’s from last weekend, when -”

“Stop,” Massu halts him, and Nakamaru falls silent. “Come here.”

Swallowing hard, Nakamaru crosses the room and stands in front of Massu, looking down into his dark eyes as he slowly lifts up both arms.

Massu shakes his head, and Nakamaru blinks in confusion. “Pull it out.”

“Okay,” Nakamaru replies, fighting to stay calm, though he’s not sure why he’s the one feeling anxious when it’s  _his_  gun, not even real. He reaches into the back of his pants and withdraws, grabbing it by the barrel and holding it out to Massu.

“Hold it properly,” Massu says, and Nakamaru does. “ _Fuck_ , that’s hot.”

Nakamaru licks his lips surreptitiously as he lifts up the gun, aiming it over Massu’s shoulder, and a surge of  _something_  courses through him when Massu leans over to bump the barrel with his head. Bright red strands mix with shiny silver metal and Nakamaru’s arousal soars, his hand steady as he runs the gun along Massu’s jawline and down his neck, similar to how he’d tortured Yamashita.

But Massu’s not scared, not one bit. His chest heaves faster with each touch, his head tilting back to expose more of his neck for Nakamaru’s taking. Nakamaru can’t take his eyes off of where the gun meets Massu’s skin, leaving little indentations in its wake that Nakamaru wants to taste with his tongue.

So he does, and Massu’s groan vibrates his lips as Nakamaru traces his way back up to Massu’s ear, feeling his whole body shudder. Nakamaru presses the barrel beneath Massu’s chin, drinking in the delicious noises of want that spill from his lips. He’s not really sure why he does it, but he cocks the gun, knowing it’s hard on the delicate workings when it isn’t about to actually be used. The click draws out a shaky moan, and Nakamaru’s voice drops.

“Show me how you’d suck my cock.”

Massu’s breath hitches, and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. Nakamaru drags the gun up, tracing the edges of Massu’s lips, and then slips the barrel into his mouth. He isn’t disappointed at all as he watches Massu’s eyelids flutter shut and his tongue caress the metal. His free hand wanders to his waistband, and he tries to ease some of the pressure on his cock, idly palming himself.

He notices Massu’s breath quicken, because he  _knows_ , and a sudden sadistic streak in his bones has him pushing the gun past Massu’s lips. Massu just tilts his head, taking it, the gun jerking in Nakamaru’s hand as Massu works his tongue around it. It has Nakamaru squeezing himself harder than he should, because this is nowhere near over.

“So dirty,” Nakamaru whispers. “Do you know where this has been?”

A low moan answers him, and Nakamaru pulls it out enough to see the metal shine with saliva. Massu’s tongue continues to flick the opening and Nakamaru rocks sharply into his own hand, imagining that happening somewhere else. Never in a million years did he think that the impossible clean-freak Massu would agree to rim him, but recent events have proven otherwise.

He starts to ask for it, but thinks better of it and points the gun to Massu’s head first, right on his left temple, and Massu’s eyes become glossier than before. “I want you to do that inside me.”

Massu reaches for Nakamaru’s belt buckle, eyes still shimmering and focused on him, and manages to unfasten the other man’s jeans. Nakamaru’s free hand aids Massu in his task, shoving his pants and underwear down impatiently. It’s with a pitiful whimper of disappointment on Massu’s part that Nakamaru withdraws the gun and turns his back. He climbs up onto the bed, gun still clenched in his fist, and settles in, ass in the air.

The bed shifts behind Nakamaru, and he feels Massu’s tentative touch skate the length of his back and firmly grip his buttocks. Massu spreads him open and the slightly cooler air of the room coupled with Massu’s warm breath send a shudder through Nakamaru. Another puff of warm breath, and then finally just the tip of Massu’s tongue circles around his rim.

Nakamaru can’t help the appreciative groan that slips out, and it’s all that Massu needs as encouragement. His tongue slides further into Nakamaru, faster and faster, and Nakamaru’s back arches like a cat as he tries to resist the urge to push back against Massu’s face. He’s always the dominant one, per Massu’s preference, but sometimes Nakamaru just wants to bend over and get  _fucked_.

This is one of those times, and he thinks Massu knows it by the way he gets bolder in his actions, pushing his tongue in and out of Nakamaru while his hands linger on the flesh of Nakamaru’s ass. His fingers squeeze anxiously and Nakamaru claws the sheets, seeing flashes of color and light behind his eyes and wanting more.

“T-Taka,” he sputters, banging the nightstand with the gun, which  _naturally_  doesn’t provide the desired reaction. “Get the lube.”

Briefly Massu’s tongue leaves him, and Nakamaru tries not to whine as the drawer bangs and Massu dives right back in like he’d never left. Nakamaru writhes on the bed as he feels a slick finger join the incessant licking, slipping further inside and a strangled moan escapes from Nakamaru’s throat. Another finger slides in, scissoring in and out alongside Massu’s tongue, and Nakamaru gasps. “T-That’s enough.”

Massu obeys, fumbling with a condom. Nakamaru slams the gun against the nightstand again, shocking Massu into dropping it. “No time, just fuck me!”

Nakamaru hears the lube being popped open again as Massu slicks himself and a hand returns to his ass to hold him open. He lets out a breath, relaxing as much as possible as the blunt head of Massu’s cock breaches him for the first time since they’ve taken their relationship to the next level. Nakamaru’s breath hitches as he’s filled, and finally Massu is fully seated. They stay still for a moment, at least until Nakamaru pushes back in a clear order to  _move_.

Massu’s rhythm is steady, a back and forth that Nakamaru enjoys, but it simply isn’t enough. He wants to feel almost painful friction, especially since they usually don’t do things this way. Nakamaru has been wondering about this for quite some time now; ever since he’d done his initial research, he’d thought of it. How it would feel to be fucked without a condom, how he’d feel full even after it was over, how messy it would be. His eyes flutter shut just thinking about it, and he pushes back even harder in a wordless attempt to get Massu to speed up.

The hint works, and Nakamaru is jolted forward with every thrust Massu makes, and the sound of Massu’s balls slapping against his ass is one of the most wonderful things he’s heard all day. He works his free hand under himself, loosely wrapping his fingers around his cock, gun still clenched and twisted in the sheets in his other hand.

“Come here,” Nakamaru hisses, and instantly he feels Massu’s sculpted chest against his back, heaving with needed breaths. Massu thrusts harder as he wraps his arms around Nakamaru’s shoulders, brushing dry lips against the back of his neck and panting into his ear, and Nakamaru works out a rhythm pushing back against Massu and forward into his own hand.

“Yucchi,” Massu gasps, slurring his name as he only does in bed, and Nakamaru grunts. “Put it back… please.”

“Put what-?” Nakamaru starts, then Massu tugs on his arm still holding the gun, and Nakamaru figures it out. He lifts his arm and bends it back, pointing the tip to Massu’s head, and Massu speeds up so much that Nakamaru can’t quite catch his breath. His hand speeds as well, the one on his cock as well as the one digging the gun into Massu’s head. He feels the power even though it’s not real, even though he doesn’t want it to be real; with as worked up as he is, he doesn’t trust himself  _not_  to pull the trigger.

Massu slams into him twice more, then stills, crying out when the gun presses into his collarbone as Nakamaru begins to slump forward. He finishes with his hand barely on his cock as he savors the way Massu’s dick pulses inside him, filling him up and leaving him a sticky mess. Nakamaru feels a dribble of come slip out along with Massu and groans weakly as he falls to the side, spent. He’s still clutching the gun loosely and Massu slips away, presumably to take a quick shower and brush his teeth.

Nakamaru wakes up the next morning with his gun on the nightstand, mysteriously clean with Massu curled into the circle of his arms.

*

If Nakamaru were aware of his surroundings, he would notice the disapproving looks from his band mates, particularly Koki, and the way everyone starts to avoid him at work. He would notice that Jin refuses to go near him, though it’s only because Yamashita made him promise not to do anything stupid. He would notice the awkward pauses in interviews that get expertly covered up by Kame, strangely worded magazine answers that Ueda alters after he leaves, and a sharp increase in his popularity because the fangirls  _love_  this stoic, borderline frightening side of their N.

But Nakamaru doesn’t notice, because all he knows is Massu and this special, exciting love they share, and it’s enough for him to put on a shiny face at work, singing and dancing like he’s supposed to.

At home, however, he can be the strong, dominant person he wants to be, the person he’s become in his relationship, with no secrets and no holding back. Nothing is wrong, because Massu is happy. Massu’s smiling face tells him that everything is okay, and to him, nothing else matters.

*

“Hey,” Massu says quietly, nudging Nakamaru’s chin with his nose. “Remember that time you bit me so hard that I bled?”

They had been watching a movie, but this conversation is much more interesting. Nakamaru nods, remembering the sweet tang of Massu’s blood on his tongue and how it had made him feel.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Massu asks, and Nakamaru’s pants start to feel incredibly tight. “How it tasted.”

Nakamaru inhales sharply, turning enough to grab Massu by the shoulders and shove him down on the couch. “I am now.”

It feels natural to kiss him now, stretching out on top of him as Massu curls one arm around his neck, fingers sliding into his hair, but the other hand reaches into his pocket and bumps his arm with something metal. Nakamaru closes his fingers over it, realizing that it’s a pocket knife, shiny and new and one he’s never seen before. His stomach suddenly feels as if it’s full of stones, but he takes a deep breath and pulls back.

It’s what Massu wants, anyway, and he’s still determined to make him smile.

Nakamaru slips his fingers under Massu’s shirt, pulling it up his torso. He doesn’t finish, leaving Massu’s hands trapped and wrapped in his oversized shirt. Massu stares up at him, unable to stop his tongue from moistening his lips as Nakamaru flicks open the blade. That does it, and Nakamaru leans forward, knife held in a mostly steady hand.

Nakamaru takes another deep breath and leans forward again, just barely dragging the tip of the knife along Massu’s breastbone. He keeps his attention on what the blade in his hand is doing, drawing it lightly toward one of Massu’s nipples. Massu subtly arches into it and Nakamaru repeats the action, harder this time. He’s fascinated by the thin line of red that wells up in the knife’s wake, staring momentarily and then following the trickle of blood with his tongue.

“That’s good,” Massu whispers, the low rumble of his voice vibrating Nakamaru’s tongue, and Nakamaru is the one who shudders. “Where no one will see.”

It’s the only time he’s been glad that Massu’s been pushing his modesty in photoshoots. All of this is for Nakamaru’s eyes only, along with his hands… and his brands. He feels a power like no other soar through his body at his marks on Massu’s skin, more than when he’d held a gun to his head; the gun had been fake, which Massu had been disappointed to hear of later, but this knife is very, very real.

Thin red ribbons shine on Massu’s chest, which heaves with each breath and Nakamaru lifts the blade to avoid any unintentional stabs. This is good for now, closing his eyes to the taste of Massu’s life on his tongue, licking his nipple as well and rocking a little against the growing bulge poking into his stomach.

“More,” Massu gasps, and Nakamaru’s eyes fly open. Massu’s leaning up on his elbows, the same fire in his eyes like when Nakamaru’s sucking him off, and Nakamaru makes a little show of licking his lips as Massu’s eyes grow darker.

Anxiety seeps into his mind as he complies, not entirely comfortable with spilling any more of Massu’s blood, but Massu’s moan as he licks his way down is too enticing. Nakamaru notices that the saliva in his wake is tinted red, but the taste is fading as he reaches the smooth plain of Massu’s belly and has a strong craving to taint it. He looks back up at Massu’s face, searching for signs of discomfort, but all he sees is the heat of desire in his eyes, overshadowed by the smile playing around his lips.

Massu’s smile cements his resolve, and Nakamaru flips open the pocket knife once again. He gazes down at the expanse of smooth flesh,  _all his_ , and finally selects the next area.

Massu arches up as Nakamaru brings the knife close once again, and to ease his own mind he locks an arm across his hips. The restraint pulls a moan from the other, and Nakamaru focuses on his next cuts. He really wants them to be just so.

Nakamaru begins the first cut just under Massu’s navel, carefully and decisively dragging the knife along the skin. The next two come much more easily, and he pauses to lap at the beads of blood. He glances up again, Massu’s smile still firmly in place, and he begins the second portion of his project. Three more lines join his handiwork, outlined in red until Nakamaru laps it up.

Nakamaru closes the knife as he leans back up. Along with the thin lines of red on Massu’s chest, a small yet clear  _YN_  adorns his lower abdomen.

“I love it,” Massu says, groaning as he tightens his abs under Nakamaru’s lips. Nakamaru wonders what it feels like, shivering at the thought of letting Massu do this to him.

“I love  _you_ ,” Nakamaru replies, and Massu grabs him by the collar to fuse their mouths together. Nakamaru whimpers because he wasn’t done drinking yet, but it fades away as Massu kisses him, sucking on his tongue and sharing the strong metallic taste, and Nakamaru’s so turned on that he doesn’t wait for permission – he  _can’t_. It’s enough to reach for the lube, though Massu bats his hand away when he reaches between his legs.

“Just do you,” he gasps, shoving his pants and underwear down so fast that he nearly pops the button off. “I want to feel it.”

Nakamaru groans in response, which is all he can do as he shucks his own pants and kneels between Massu’s spread thighs. He slathers lube on himself and resists the urge to lean down; he wants to appreciate his masterpiece as they come together. It’s like his cock knows the way and it’s so much tighter with no preparation, but Massu’s smile doesn’t falter as Nakamaru buries himself to the hilt, nor when he pulls back and sharply pushes back in, and his primal urges take over once he notices that Massu’s lips are tinted red.

Nakamaru’s grip on Massu’s hips is bruising, adding to the mottled greens and purples that seem to always linger there, and he earns a gasp as his short fingernails press crescents into the tender skin. The couch is rocking with his efforts as sweat begins to glisten between their bodies, and Massu continues to cry out near-constantly. He’s still so tight around Nakamaru, blissfully so, and the slowly bleeding wounds littering his body mingle with their sweat to tinge everything slightly pink.

With his eyes closed and head thrown back, and lips tinged red from his own blood, Massu makes a beautiful picture. Nakamaru keeps his eyes open as much as he can, trying to burn the image onto his brain; he never wants to forget the way Massu keeps smiling throughout.

Massu is clenching his fists in the couch cushions, so Nakamaru pries a hand from his hip to wrap around his cock, barely stroking. His touch combined with his brutal pace bring Massu off so quickly his own orgasm is nearly pulled from him, but he manages to hold off for a few more thrusts. Just as he’s about to blow, Nakamaru pulls out, spilling all over Massu’s thighs and stomach, pearly semen mixing with blood.

Nakamaru slumps forward, barely keeping his face out of the mess he’s made of his best friend as he remains spread on the couch. He’s not sure why he does it, but he slides his fingers through the rapidly cooling come and blood and holds them out to Massu. Tongue flicking against Nakamaru’s fingers, Massu smiles at the taste.

“I should grab some antiseptic or something,” Nakamaru mumbles, a little dazed at the feeling of Massu’s tongue along with the tingles of orgasm.

“Not yet,” Massu hisses, and Nakamaru looks up quizzically. “I want to feel it a little longer.”

Wordlessly, Nakamaru leans down to lick along the length of the cuts, starting with the one high on his chest and dropping to the engravings on his belly. Massu only squirms a little, mostly tensing, and they both let out faint moans when Nakamaru’s tongue outlines his own initials.

Massu’s smile shines even when Nakamaru closes his eyes.

There are whispers in the hallways. Sharp glares and scared retreats when they walk by. Nobody approaches either of them anymore. Nakamaru doesn’t pay any mind to it, and if Massu does, he doesn’t bring it up. They don’t need anyone to justify their relationship; they are in love, and that’s all that matters.

They are both invincible.

“Yamashita-kun apologized to me today,” Massu says, bringing Nakamaru’s hand to his neck. His voice becomes more distorted as Nakamaru determinedly squeezes his throat. “I’m so happy.”

And Nakamaru  _beams_.


End file.
